


I Hope You Have A Speech Prepared

by DearHeartx



Series: Fictober 2018 [20]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-23 21:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearHeartx/pseuds/DearHeartx
Summary: **Title is in regards to what the Templar would've told Anders shortly before it happened.
Relationships: Anders/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Female Amell/Anders (Dragon Age)
Series: Fictober 2018 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802731





	I Hope You Have A Speech Prepared

There was a knock at Em’ri Amell’s door and the caramel colored tabby startled awake, the animal glaring at Em’ri as she pushed it to off her lap and onto the floor. It was too late for visitors. She eyed the inconspicuous walking stick by the door and took a steadying breath before opening the threshold.

“Warden Commander,” Cullen greeted het stiffly.

Her eyes traveled from his worn face to his wringing hands that were absently crumpling a small envelope. She stuttered before gesturing behind her, “Please, come in.”

He took just enough steps to clear the door. Em’ri crossed the room and steadied herself against a heavy, wooden table. Still irritated, the tabby’s tail swished in the corner. When Cullen didn’t speak, she said, “I assume this isn’t an off-hour social call.”

His ears pinked. “No. No social call.” He began to pace. “You better sit down, Em. It’s going to be a long night.”

She grabbed a bottle of what her conscripts called Rotwine. She’d taken quite a liking to a case of old unmarked dark blue bottles she’d found in a box marked ANRAS. She offered a glass to Cullen, but when he waved her away she put both the glass and the bottle back on the table with a somewhat wistful glint in her eye. She settled in her arm chair once again and the tabby was quick to resume his post on her lap. However, instead of sleeping, he kept watchful eyes on Cullen sitting on a dining chair a few feet across the room.

“Well?” Em’ri prompted. A sick feeling had permeated her entire being the moment he rapped on her door, but she wouldn’t let him know that. Wouldn’t let him sense any weakness.

“Has news from Kirkwall made it this far south, yet?” He rubbed at his temples, not meeting her eyes.

The hollow tone of his voice struck her to the core and she knew why he was here. Her heart dropped and she clutched at her stomach until her racing pulse steadied. She hoped he hadn’t noticed, but his wandering eyes made her doubt her charade of indifference.

“I know,” her voice cracked before evening out, “there was a battle of some kind. A fire, too.” She hardened her resolve and her her words came out like jagged glass. “Forgive me, we’ve had some problems of our own. The nobles haven’t taken too kindly to the Wardens resurfacing here. I haven’t really kept up with interstate politics. Why?” Inside she screamed at him to not answer, to get up and go back to Kirkwall. If he didn’t tell her, it couldn’t be true. Their eyes met and her thoughts immediately silenced. Cullen had looked tired since the day she’d met him—her crying, him guiding her away from her family and across Lake Calenhad. There was something different about him now, more to the darkness beneath his eyes, haunted.

“When did you last speak to Anders? I know you two were—” his voice caught “—close.”

Her brow furrowed into a deep frown as she fought against the sting in her eyes. “He’d sent me a few letters every couple weeks or so since he left. They stopped after his last visit, about three months ago.” Her eyes widened and her stomach hollowed out beneath her. Words poured out of her, “They were never postmarked. I assumed he was moving again.” When Cullen didn’t answer, she finally gathered the nerve to ask, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Cullen’s eyes fell to the floor, his fingers wresting the wrinkled letter in his hands.

“Cullen!”

He flinched at her desperate cry.

She didn’t understand why he was handing her his kerchief until the tabby meowed a loud complaint at the uncomfortable drops of moisture landing on his back.

Cullen nodded. “Yesterday morning. At dawn.”

At dawn. What was she doing at dawn? Laundry? She’d been folding laundry when Anders been facing the scariest moments in his life, alone. How could she not have known? How could she not have felt something? Isn’t that what everyone says? That when your soulmate dies, you feel it? She hadn’t felt anything!

“What in the Void happened?” She tried to keep her voice level, but failed miserably. The only minute comfort came from the warmth of the tabby’s fur running through her fingers and his purr reverberating against her belly.

“I think…I think he did what he thought was right. But countless people lost their lives because of his perspective and the actions he took. His last wish was that he be allowed to send you a letter.”

She reached for it, half expecting him to pull away, but he gave it to her without any hesitation.

Cullen stood and headed toward the door. “Em’ri…”

She’d already broken the seal, eager to read her beloved’s last words.

“Please know that if I’d known…I didn’t mean for it to…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Once the door was shut behind him and she couldn’t hear his footsteps retreating any more, she finished opening the envelope and began to read.

_My Treasured Em -_

_I know you’re mad. I broke my promise to you. It looks like we’ll never get to take down the Circles together, to change the way the world sees us. The way the world sees our daughter._

_She clutched at her stomach. Her fingers played over the barely perceptible bump._

_We can only hope that what I’ve done sets in motion a rolling stone that cannot be stopped, only hope that she will not grow up fearing what lurks ‘round every corner the way we did. My greatest hope is that she grows up in a world I only dreamed about. I believe that can still happen._

_But even if it doesn’t, I leave this prejudiced world with one great comfort. She has something neither one of us did: two parents who adore her just the way she is and a mother who will raise her to be strong and proud._

_Tears continued to make silent tracks down her cheeks._

_I cherish you both more than either one of you will ever know. You are my world. My reason for living. My reason for fighting. I love you._

_Her shoulders shook as his words pulled harsh sobs from her chest._

_I know it will be painful for you, but tell her about me. I don’t want her thinking I left you both behind by choice._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

_\- Andy_

_PS. Don’t be mad at Hawke. He did his best._

_PPS. Give Pounce a hug for me, eh?_

She folded the letter and pressed it to her lips. She closed her eyes and let the scent of the paper—Anders scent—fill her. She was certain it was her imagination, but the sensation was so strong, she found comfort in it just the same. Her tears came with renewed strength when she realized that soon everything that carried his scent in her small home would no longer smell like lyrium, blood orange, and sage leaves.

She lifted Ser-Pounce-a-Lot gently from her lap and cradled him against her chest as she staggered into their bedroom which seemed much emptier than it had the night before. Pounce pushed off her and stretched out in a languid pile on the bed. It only took Em’ri a moment to find a shirt Anders had left behind, change into it, and slide into bed beside the tabby.

She read the letter two more times and had begun to read it for a third when soft fur rubbed against her knuckles. She continued to read until Pounce pushed his cheek hard enough into her hand to rattle the paper, his purring unusually loud. She folded the letter along the delicate creases and tucked it into the drawer in her bedside table. Before she’d even fully reclined again, Pounce had climbed into the crook of her arm with graceful assurance and was kneading against her chest, occasionally bumping his pink nose into her chin.

She took one last stuttering breath as the tears finally waned, the weight of the cat against her ribs grounding her. She traced slow circles around the small bump made larger through her teary vision. “Hope.” A fragile smile wavered on her tearstained face. “What do you think?” She asked Pounce, who pushed his soft face into her belly before curling around her protectively. “I think so, too. ‘Hope’ it is, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Title is in regards to what the Templar would've told Anders shortly before it happened.


End file.
